


Monologues from Honolulu Heights: Alex

by undeadstoryteller



Series: Monologues from Honolulu Heights [3]
Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeadstoryteller/pseuds/undeadstoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex reflects on her life and afterlife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monologues from Honolulu Heights: Alex

I can't even imagine what the house must be like with me gone. I mean, I'm sure my dad can handle it, but I felt needed at home with my dad and brothers. That's why I never moved out, I always said everything would fall apart if I left. I knew I would eventually. Not quite so soon, though.

I did have to take over a lot of the "mum" role. I cleaned up after them. Helped with homework. I even went to a teacher meeting once for my brother Ryan when dad had to work. Oh, that was a nightmare. It was for smoking, typical shit. They "suspected" that he'd been smoking weed, too, which I'm sure he was. What did they want me to do about it? He's a good kid. He can be a dumbass, but he's not failing in school. They said because I'm not the "official guardian" that I had to have a letter signed by Dad, and they wanted to know that he was being disciplined properly. Aside from getting a week suspension, which everyone knows is not punishment. I just signed it myself. Believe me, over the years, I'd gotten good at signing Dad's name. I told him about the cigarettes, but not the weed. I am his big sister, after all, not his mum.

My mum... I mean, it was hard raising four kids. I wasn't exactly easy myself, so it was harder for her than for me with just the boys. She had a certain vision for her one and only daughter, I guess. You know, long hair, cute dresses, pink lipstick. I have nothing against those things, but they're not me. When I was ten, I saw a picture of Siouxie Sioux. You know, from the '80s. I never wanted to copy her -- I don't think I could pull off dyed black hair -- but I looked at her and I thought, _wow... she is exactly who she wants to be, and no one else_. Then I thought, 'Who am I?' I don't think I ever really answered that in my tragically short life, but I feel like I'm coming into myself as a ghost. God, that sounds insane.

I wish I was dressed more comfortably, though. Not that it feels uncomfortable, I just wouldn't have chosen to go in a dress. Annie had the right idea, she knew how to dress practically for the afterlife! Oh, don't get offended, I was murdered, too. It's just a little ghost humour... you laugh or you cry, you know?

Anyway. I do miss my life sometimes. The noise, the smell -- I never would have thought I'd ever be nostalgic for the rank smell of my three brothers, but sometimes I would kill to smell a pile of their dirty laundry again. Other times, they seem so far away, and I can't even imagine being back home with my dad and brothers. I have a new family now. When you die, your definition of family changes. Someday my boys will pass on, hopefully not soon and hopefully not for something stupid. I'll show 'em the ropes of the afterlife. But I can't think about it too much. When you do, you miss them, and I truly hope I don't get to be with them again for a long, long time.


End file.
